


When The Morning Comes

by pinkwithoutplot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwithoutplot/pseuds/pinkwithoutplot
Summary: In the cold light of day, Dean starts to have second thoughts. But Sam won't let him break the promise he made in the dark...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story directly follows Hard To Be Soft, Tough To Be Tender.

 

 

 

  
Summary: In the cold light of day, Dean starts to have second thoughts. But Sam won't let him break the promise he made in the dark...  
Categories: Sam/Dean > Season Six Characters:  None  
Fun Genres:  None  
Genres:  Angst, Fluff, PWP  
Warnings:  None  
Challenges: None  
Series: None  
Chapters:  1 Completed: Yes  
Word count: 3927 Read: 1109  
Published: 11/09/2010 Updated: 11/09/2010

 

 

Story Notes:

This story directly follows Hard To Be Soft, Tough To Be Tender.

 

Dean is confused as he starts to rouse, the low sun seeping through the tatty curtains. His eyes stay wilfully closed against the harsh light. This must be a hangover. His mouth is parched. He aches. Behind his eyes, in his limbs, his jaw. But somewhere else. Inside. There is an arm thrown around his waist, a large, warm presence at his back. And that's when it hits him. Sam. He's in bed with Sam.  
  
His brother is pressed in close as they share the narrow single bed, the steady push and pull of his breathing tickling the back of Dean's neck. Dean feels his stomach lurch and his pulse pick up as lurid flashes of last night skitter across his mind. He is starting to panic. His mouth tastes a little sour and he remembers the fight, the bar, getting back to the room and then...being sick. Sick with shame and guilt and a volatile cocktail of fathomless things which had made him want to fuck his own brother.

And he remembers giving in.

He tries to shift carefully but Sam's huge hand twitches, fingers digging painfully into the lean meat of his hip. Dean feels bruised all over, and he winces as he moves again and is rewarded by a sharp pain in his ass. He hears an echo of his own, raw voice,

_“Fuck me hard, Sam. Come on - give it to me.”_

Searing heat blooms across his face as he remembers moaning and gasping like a virgin on prom night. He'd wanted it, God help him. He'd welcomed the pain, the sweet burn as his little brother slammed into him with a brutal urgency. He remembers coming hard with Sam's name on his tongue before he'd even got a hand on his cock. Remembers how his brother had looked up at him with those slanted, sea-green eyes as he'd pumped his load down his throat.

“Dean?”

Sam's sleepy voice permeates the heady swirl of recollections. There is something of the child he used to be in that single, drowsy word. It's like a sucker-punch and Dean screws his eyes up tight - tries to find his voice.

“Yeah, Sam?”

Sam's sigh is hot and moist against his ear. Dean realises he's sporting a hard-on which starts to throb angrily at that. His bladder is uncomfortably full and he wants nothing more than to prise Sam's arm off him and run for the calming solitude of the bathroom.

“Don't you dare.” It's almost a growl and Sam's voice is thick and rough. Dean tries not to think about how it felt plunging into his slick, spongey throat.

“Dare what?” he asks, his own voice cracked.

“I know you, Dean.” Sam's hand moves up to trace lazy patterns around his waist. The gesture is weirdly intimate, even after all they've done. “You're freaking out. Regretting what we did.”

Dean can't help but bark a surprised laugh at that.

“Well, shit, Sammy. You gonna cut me some slack here? It's not every day a guy gets pounded senseless by his closest blood relative.”

Sam flinches slighly at his caustic words, and Dean could bite his own tongue off, but when he tries to sit up, to pull away, Sam's arm is heavy and insistant.

“Nuh. We're not doing this, Dean. You said. You _promised_. Anything I want.”

Was the kid seriously going to pull this shit on him?

“Sam -”

“Dean!” The younger Winchester cuts him off, pulling Dean onto his back and tilting his chin to look into his face. “I wanted it. You wanted it. Believe me, I know this is messed up. _I know that_. But in the scheme of things...well, I'm done fighting it. And we don't have to talk about it if you don't want, but please, _please_ don't shut me out.”

Dean's throat constricts at the underlying fear in Sam's voice. His little brother's brow is wrinkled, his eyes pleading. The air is thick: A miasma of stale sweat, come and drink.

“I need to take a leak and grab a shower, Sammy.”

Sam's frown smoothes at the familiar term of endearment. He loosens his grip on his brother's torso.

“OK,” he concedes quietly as Dean rolls over and plants his feet on the floor. The cords in his neck stand out in stark relief. He is coiled – primed for fight or flight, except he can't.... _won't_ do either.

Dean feels like he's had a red hot poker shoved up his ass as he sits on the edge of the bed and quickly gets to his feet, pulling up his shorts. His knees feel loose and he's unsteady as he makes his way over to the bathroom, keeping his back to his brother, Sam's gaze boring into him as he goes.

Once in the bathroom, he pushes the door to but, remembering how Sam had forced his way in last night, doesn't bother to lock it. He frees his hard cock from the constraints of his dirty shorts, slipping out of them again, and forces it down, aiming into the toilet bowl as best he can and exhaling gratefully as he finally relieves himself.

He walks gingerly over to the bath and steps into it, another searing pain reminding him of their transgression. Dean's done a lot of stupid shit in his time, but this...this has to top it all. As he turns on the water to the shower head and waits for it to run hot, he tries to tell himself that it was the drink. That he wasn't thinking clearly through the fug of whiskey and the shock of having Sammy back – alive. Not trusting his senses, he'd needed that contact, bestial and violent, to know he was really back. Solid and tangible and there. His.

Back up. _His_? OK. Sure. His responsibility. His partner in crime. His best friend. His brother.

His soulmate.

Jesus. Sam may be the academic one, but you didn't need a diploma to know that what they'd done was wrong. It was plain as day. As sure as the sun rose and set and the moon waxed and waned. As sure as the tides.

Except...

Dean lets the now warm water cascade over his tender shoulders and back. He tries to breathe slow and deep and let the tension work its way out of his joints. His abs twinge like he's done a hundred stomach crunches and he recalls another gobbet of detail – his body jerking and spasming from the force of shooting into Sam's welcoming mouth.

It's so dirty and so wrong...except...

Except maybe that moral compass is screwy, because these natural laws - the sun, the moon and tides - they wouldn't be governing anything. Measuring out the hours, days, years. There would be no more time. No more order. Only chaos. There would be _nothing_ left if it weren't for them.

Sam and Dean.

Dean mouths their names to himself silently over and over. They feel right and good and natural as he shapes his lips around them, weighs them on his tongue. Sam and Dean. Day and Night. Light and Dark. Time and Tide. The way it's always been.

Dean runs his hands over his body, soaping and rinsing the dried mess of their combined fluids off his skin. His mind replaces his own hands with his brother's oversized palms and long, agile fingers and he lets his head thud back against the tiles as the touch moves lower.

So unnatural, except...

Except he woke hard and he's getting harder, memories of his brother's urgent pleas ensuring his morning glory won't be wilting any time soon. At least not of its own accord.

He's not sure if the nausea he feels is residual shock from last night, the drink, whether it's a biological reminder that brothers shouldn't do this, or whether it's simply anticipation. He knows what's about to happen and knows he'll tell himself whatever it takes to justify the fact he's about to fuck his kid brother again, because he needs it so damn badly.

Sam listens to the changing sounds of the water as Dean shifts around in the jets. He can just picture the cogs revolving in his brother's head. Sam wonders how long to give him before he goes in after him. He knows Dean will be trying to talk himself out of a repeat performance. He also knows Dean's body has a will of its own – a good hunter will take action way before his brain has registered the conscious decision to do so – and it will be reliving the highlights of last night in delicious, spine tingling detail.

Sam is a little ahead of his brother. He guesses he has been for a while now. He knows what they have isn't something the rest of the world will ever understand, but he figures the rest of the world is in no position to judge, given the things they have sacrificed for it. They never have to speak about this. It's no one else's business.

No, Sam doesn't care what the world thinks. He's just terrified that one day this will end, and now he knows just how deep this runs, how perfect and complete they can be, the prospect stops his heart for a few beats.

Dean feels Sam's eyes on him before the draft from the opened bathroom door reaches his wet skin and forces it into goosebumps. Dean turns and looks at his brother. Last night had been a mess of shoving, grappling and desperate sounds in the dark. But now Sam stands, naked and haloed by the light behind him. Exposed. He's so beautiful that Dean's breath catches as his eyes run hungrily over his form, not sure where to look yet afraid to miss a single detail. They flit over every curve and hollow, each shadow and burnished plane. Sam catches his gaze with his own and Dean can see all the flecks of colour there – brown, blue, green – being quickly eclipsed by black. He knows Sam sees this darkening refelected in his own gold-green irises.

Dean realises in an instant that he won't refuse Sam a damn thing. He's back on the same runaway train he was last night. Everything that happens from hereon in is inevitable because Dean Winchester is powerless to prevent it. It's way too late. They've already eaten from the tree.

Sam moves towards the bath, his half hard cock heavy between his legs, and steps in effortlessly – one long leg following the other.

“Hey,” Sam says, His voice is still husky, but playful now.

“Hey yourself,” Dean replies, shouldering him lightly. “Bit old for shared bath-time, aren't we?”

Sam knows rationally that those words should pull him up sharp, but what actually happens is his dick gets harder. His hands come up and rest on his brother's soap-slicked chest. Dean gasps as his fingers circle his hardening nipples and Sam leans in to taste his lips.

Dean opens easily for him, his eyes fluttering shut as Sam backs him against the cold tiles and gently plunders his mouth with his tongue. Last night was awkward, hesitant then fast and hard, but now they take their time, kissing deep and soft and dirty. Dean groans helplessly, and Sam pulls back slightly now and then, panting harsh breaths into his brother's open mouth. He can't remember ever being this affected by a kiss.

Dean is rock hard, his cock nudging at Sam's thigh. His hands slide around to cup Sam's ass and pull his brother tight against the full length of his body. He feels Sam's hard dick trapped against his stomach and rocks against his brother in a slip-slide which has them both moaning and wanting more. Sam's huge hands are all over Dean, touching, smoothing, probing, occasionally coming up to push his own wet bangs out of his glazed eyes.

Dean gently soaps his brother's skin while they kiss and touch. They have always taken care of each other, but this new level of intimacy is alien to Dean. Lack of privacy he understands – he's used to that. And fucking – he gets fucking. But this is a whole new ball game. He thinks this tenderness might be the death of him. His heart is racing and his stomach rolls nervously. He busies himself with nuzzling at his brother's shoulder, the so he doesn't have look into Sammy's eyes and see the awe and desperate need there.

“Bed. Now,” Sam breathes, shutting off the water and dragging Dean after him, out of the bath.

Sam scoops up a towel and uses it to gently pat the moisture from his brother's skin before roughly drying himself. He strides into the bedroom and lays back on the small bed, spreading himself out. Dean follows - licks his lips and swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, as he takes in the sight of his brother's long, sleek body. It's like seeing him for the first time. Dean briefly wonders how a guy can get to the age he is now without knowing he could be turned on by tight muscle and hard lines, let alone those of his own brother, but then Sam strokes himself slowly, a smile playing on his lips, and Dean decides it doesn't matter.

“Sammy,” he says, his voice raw as he stalks over to the bed. He crawls up between Sam's endless, open legs and dips in for another soul-wrenching kiss.

“Dean,” Sam whispers against his brother's lips, “Want you inside me. Want you to fuck me.”

“Jesus, Sam. Yeah. Yeah, I want that too. Wanna be the one to fuck you open, lose it deep in your tight, virgin hole. That what you want?”

“Oh God, Dean. Yeah!” Sam's breathing is ragged and his hand has stilled on his cock. He grips the base and bites his lip as Dean's dirty words, the slow, deep rumble of his voice, nearly send him over the edge.

“Gonna make it good for you, Sammy. Gonna make it so good like you did for me. Can't wait to feel how hot and tight you are.” Dean pets and smoothes Sam's taut belly then lets his hand stray down to the engorged heat of his brother's cock. He strokes gently up and down a few times before swiping his thumb through the fluid seeping from the head and using it to slick the shaft.

Sam's moaning continually now. He's really loud and Dean finds himself answering his urgent noises with encouraging sounds of his own.

“Dean! You have to stop. I'm too close. Please – don't wanna come yet.”

Dean's hand stops pumping and he smirks at his brother.

“Staying power, Sammy. We're gonna have to work on that.”

Dean reaches down under the bed until his hand finds his duffle. He opens the pocket and fumbles for the little bottle of gun oil he has in there. Sam's face lights up in a grin when he sees it.

“Very resourceful.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow.

“Yup! You're not the only one in the family with smarts, y'know.”

His big brother shoots him a debilitating wink and Sam feels his achingly hard cock pulse with longing. Dean pours a little of the oil on his fingers and works it around. Sam pulls his knees up and apart, giving Dean easier access.

“Christ, Sammy. Do you know what it does to me, seeing you spread 'em like that?”

Sam smiles and his feline eyes glitter with desire. His tongue sweeps out to moisten his lips and Dean is blown away by how delicate, how beautiful his brother's face is right now. He lets his finger run teasingly around Sam's opening and smiles as his teeth sink into his lower lip and his eyes fall shut. Dean leans over his brother to kiss him again, dragging his attention back to the plush press of his slick, pink lips.

“God, Dean – your mouth. The things I wanna do to your mouth.” Sam's hand comes up and he smears a little of their spittle across Dean's lower lip with the pad of his thumb. A slow smile breaks over Dean's face and Sam suddenly thinks he kind of understands all those cliched lines from songs. He's never seen anything more beguiling. He struggles to catch his breath as Dean shifts down the bed and tongues his navel a few times before he starts to lap wetly at the head of his cock.

Sam would be lying to himself if he said he'd never thought about how Dean's pout would look wrapped around his swollen flesh. Perhaps not even consciously, but in the midst of some shameful, half forgotten dreams which have plagued him periodically throughout his short life. The reality is far better than anything his fevered imagination could have managed though. Dean is bobbing his head and looking up at him through his long, gold-tinged lashes and Sam can only stand to watch for a second or two before he has to push Dean away to keep from spilling into his hot mouth.

Dean laughs and starts to work a single greased finger inside his brother, giving his impossibly full dick a slow lick now and then. Sam is making more of those incredible noises, and Dean is so close hismself, he fears this is all going to be over pretty much as soon as he strarts to press home. He adds another finger and moves it carefully around with the first, watching Sam's blissed out face for any signs of hurting. Dean's own ass is still pretty tender, and though he enjoyed getting violently fucked more than he will ever be able to admit to himself, he wants to make sure Sam experiences only pleasure with as little pain as possible. He presses deeper, and Sam suddenly gasps and bucks his hips off the matress.

“Oh fuck! There, Dean. Right there. Yeah!”

Dean gives a few more experiemental thrusts and laps at the sticky clear fluid that oozes from his brother's slit when he finds his sweet spot.

“Not gonna last Dean! Do it, now. Fuck me. Please!”

Dean scrambles to his knees and tries to lever Sam over onto his front but his brother shakes his head resolutely.

“You promised. I wanna see you. Wanna watch your face while you fill me up, shoot your load belly-deep in me, Dean.”

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groans as he settles his weight on his brother. He's not sure he can handle this scrutiny but he'll try for Sam and because he's so damn turned on he doesn't know which way is up any more.

He rests the head of his aching cock against Sam's hole and takes a few deep breaths, rubbing soothing cirlces on Sam's trembling belly and willing him to relax. He takes a little more of the gun oil and dribbles it on himself and Sam before slowly, excrutiatingly slowly, he pushes forward.

Sam's eyes fly open as he is breached and he has to remind himself to breathe. Dean feels huge, and it's like being torn apart, but he inhales deeply and concentrates on his older brother's face. Dean expression is somewhere between panicked concern and pure ecstacy. Sam won't deny his brother this. He reaches up and strokes his face, lets his fingers paddle on those sinful lips and rolls his hips slighty, trying to adjust to the intrusion.

After a few moments, the searing pain subsides, and Sam nods. Dean gratefully sinks in another inch and stills again, the effort of holding back making beads of sweat stand out on his forehead. Sam is so tight, cluching and spasming so sweetly that Dean isn't sure he will even get all the way inside without blowing his wad.

Dean isn't sure how long it is before he realises he is fully buried inside his brother. To be honest, he's trying to think of something else – anything else – but the maddening drag of his over-sensitive cock in Sam's perfect, untouched ass. He drops his forehead against his brother's and rests it there. That way he doesn't have to see the terrifying weight of love in his eyes, the enormity which threatens to engulf him.

They stay like that, panting, for long moments, until finally Sam wraps those lithe legs around his brother's ass and pulls him even deeper with his bony heels digging into the small of Dean's back.

“Fuck me, Dean,” he whimpers and Dean does. It's slow and cautious at first, as much to stave off his own impending climax as to make it more comfortable for his brother, but then Sam's cock – softened slightly by the pain of entry – begins to swell and twitch as he finds that place he had with his fingers, and his hips pick up the pace.

Sam is groaning loudly now and cursing under his breath as he uses his powerful legs to drive Dean into him over and over.

“God, Sam,” Dean moans. “Yeah. That's it. Let me hear you. Don't you hold out on me. Want them to hear it three states over when I make you come.”

“Dean!” Sam pants and reaches between them to get a hand on his aching dick.

“Nuh-uh,” Dean grunts, slapping his hand away. “Like this. You can do it, Sammy. Come with just my dick in your ass. You know you can. Come for me, baby.”

_Baby_? Shit! Dean hopes Sam is too preoccupied to notice that slip, else he's never going to live it down.

Sam opens his eyes wide and brings his huge hands up to cup Dean's sweat soaked face. He leans up and kisses him softly on the mouth.

“Yeah, I can do that, Dean. Look at me. Wanna see your eyes as you lose it. Want you to see me shoot it so damn hard for you.”

Dean feels the colour bloom across his cheeks and hopes Sam puts it down to exersion. He blinks rapidly – once, twice, three times – to clear his vision and fixes his gaze on his brother's glassy expression. They are both so close, and Sam lets fly with a final gut-wrenching “fuck!” which Dean feels vibrate through his own chest before his painfully hard cock is clenched in the tightest heat he's ever felt. Sam's mouth tugs into a surprised smile as he shoots a geyser of thick, white come between them, reaching as far as his own collar bone, and the sight of that combined with Sam snarling his strong fingers in Dean's short hair, forcing his head up to meet his eyes again, pushes him over the edge.

Sam feels sludgy warmth deep inside him, and Dean's last thrusts are slippery wet. His mouth his slack, his gemstone green eyes roll way back in his head and a serenity Sam never dared hope to see again settles over his brother's feaures.

Dean rests his full, spent weight gently on his brother and presses his nose into the crook of his neck. Sam's damp hair smells of shampoo and warm scalp.

“We really don't even have to talk about this y'know,” Sam breathes finally. “It's between us. It stays here. But I need it, Dean. _So badly_. And I think you do too.”

Dean is silent, unmoving for the longest time, and then Sam feels him nod against his shoulder.

“Good then...” Sam smirks “... _baby_.”

Sam winces as Dean's hand tugs roughly at a clump of his hair, but he feels him smile against his throat all the same.

 

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.sinful-desire.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=3794>


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